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Love

Hellfire and High Hems

The common room of the Jujutsu High dormitories had been transformed into a den of neon lights and fake cobwebs. Nobara Kugisaki, never one to do things by halves, had spent the better part of three days sourcing the perfect decorations and a sound system that could probably shake the foundations of the Tokyo Metropolitan area. The bass was thumping, a heavy, rhythmic pulse that vibrated in the floorboards, and the air smelled of spiced cider, pumpkin sweets, and the faint, ozone-sharp scent of cursed energy from the small, glowing lanterns floating near the ceiling.

"If anyone spills a drink on my custom-made witch's hat, I’m using Resonance on their liver," Nobara declared, gesturing with a plastic broomstick. She looked sharp in a high-fashion sorceress outfit, her boots clicking against the floor as she surveyed her handiwork.

Yuji Itadori, dressed as a very convincing—and very shirtless—werewolf, was busy trying to stack three donuts on his nose at once. Megumi Fushiguro sat on a nearby couch, having put in the absolute minimum effort by wearing a pair of black cat ears that looked like they had been forced onto his head at gunpoint. Even Toge Inumaki had joined in, wearing a classic sheet-ghost costume with holes cut out so he could still see and speak his limited vocabulary of rice ball ingredients.

"Where’s Yuta?" Yuji asked, finally dropping the donuts and shoving one into his mouth. "I haven't seen him since he went to get ice."

"He’s probably waiting for Yumi," Megumi noted, his eyes drifting toward the door. "They’ve been acting... intense lately. Even more than usual."

"Salmon," Inumaki agreed, his muffled voice coming from beneath the white sheet.

The door to the common room swung open, and the chatter died down almost instantly. It wasn't Yuta who walked in first. It was Yumi.

She had always been small, a petite firecracker of a girl who usually blended into the background with her cheerful smiles and school uniform. But tonight, she was a revelation. She was dressed as a devil, but the "sexy" prefix didn't even begin to cover it. She wore a strapless red top that hugged her curves dangerously tight, leaving her shoulders and the delicate line of her collarbone bare. Below, a red pleated miniskirt sat low on her hips—so short that every time she took a step, the hem flirted with the very top of her thighs, occasionally revealing the soft, pale curve of her lower butt cheeks.

She had a pair of sleek, dark red horns nestled in her hair, and a thin, spade-tipped tail that swayed behind her with every movement. But the most striking change was her face. For the first time since anyone had known her, she was wearing makeup—specifically, a deep, blood-red lipstick that made her mouth look lush and incredibly inviting.

Yuji’s jaw actually dropped. A piece of donut fell out. "Whoa," he breathed, his eyes wide and fixed on her legs.

Megumi, usually the picture of stoic indifference, felt a heat creep up his neck that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. He looked away, then looked back, unable to stop his eyes from tracing the line where the red fabric met her skin.

Inumaki stood perfectly still under his ghost sheet, though the fabric over his mouth area puffed out as he let out a sharp, surprised breath. "Bonito flakes..." he whispered, his voice sounding uncharacteristically strained.

Yumi didn't seem to notice the sudden vacuum of silence she had created. She walked into the room with a playful sway of her hips, her heels clicking rhythmically. "Happy Halloween, everyone! Nobara, the place looks amazing!"

Nobara whistled, a long, appreciative sound. "Damn, Yumi! I told you that lipstick would kill. You look like you’re ready to start a war."

"Or end one," Yuji muttered, still staring.

Yuta stepped into the room behind her, carrying a bag of ice. He stopped dead. He had seen her get ready, but seeing her here, under the harsh strobe lights with every single male in the room staring at her like she was a five-course meal, was a different experience entirely.

He felt a hot, possessive flare of cursed energy surge through him. It was instinctive—the part of him that was linked to Rika, the part that didn't like to share, reacted instantly. His eyes narrowed as he watched Yuji’s gaze linger on the hem of her skirt. He saw the way Megumi was struggling to keep his eyes on his drink, and the way Inumaki’s ghost sheet was practically vibrating.

Yuta walked over to Yumi, his pace steady but his expression uncharacteristically dark. He placed a hand on the small of her back, his fingers coming into direct contact with the bare skin just above her skirt. It was a clear, territorial gesture.

"You're late," Yuta said, his voice low and vibrating with a tension that made Yumi shiver.

She looked up at him, her red-painted lips curling into a knowing smirk. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his aura was practically humming with irritation. "I had to get the horns just right, Yuta. Do you like them?"

"I like them," Yuta said, his voice dropping an octave. "But I think we should go."

"Go? We just got here!" Yuji shouted, finally snapping out of his trance. "Yumi, you gotta try the punch! Panda made it, and I think he put something weird in it because it’s glowing."

Yumi laughed, a bright, melodic sound that drew every eye back to her. She moved away from Yuta’s touch to grab a cup, her skirt riding up even further as she reached for the ladle. Behind her, Yuta watched as Yuji and Inumaki both leaned forward slightly, their eyes glued to the flash of skin.

Yuta’s jaw tightened. He felt a prickle of annoyance that was rapidly evolving into something much more primal. He was a Special Grade sorcerer; he had faced down ancient curses and survived the most brutal battles imaginable. But watching his friends "eat" his girlfriend with their eyes was a special kind of torture he wasn't prepared for.

He followed her, staying close—closer than was strictly necessary for a party. Every time a guy approached her, Yuta was there, his presence looming like a storm cloud. He didn't say much, but the sheer weight of his cursed energy was enough to make most people give them a wide berth.

"Yuta, you’re being grumpy," Yumi whispered, leaning back against him as they stood near the snack table. She reached up, trailing a finger along his jawline, her red lipstick looking dangerously bright against his pale skin. "Is the big, scary sorcerer jealous?"

"I'm not jealous," Yuta lied, though his hand gripped her hip with a force that left no room for doubt. "I just don't like the way they're looking at you."

"And how are they looking at me?" she teased, her voice a soft, silken lure.

"Like they want to take you home," Yuta muttered, his eyes flickering toward Megumi, who had finally given up and was staring at the wall in a desperate attempt to be respectful.

Yumi hummed, a small, satisfied sound. She turned in his arms, her chest brushing against his. She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. "Well, they can't have me. But you can. If you're man enough to take what’s yours."

She pulled back, her eyes dancing with a challenge that set Yuta’s blood on fire. She didn't wait for a response. She grabbed his hand and began weaving through the crowd, heading toward the back hallway where the guest bedrooms were located.

Yuta followed her, his heart hammering against his ribs. The noise of the party began to fade as they moved deeper into the dormitory, replaced by the heavy silence of the hallway. Yumi stopped at the third door, pushed it open, and pulled him inside, locking the door behind them with a decisive click.

The room was small, used mostly for storage and visiting staff, with a sturdy wooden table pushed against the far wall. The only light came from the moonlight filtering through the window, silvering the edges of Yumi’s devil horns.

"Yumi—" Yuta started, but she cut him off by slamming her lips against his.

The kiss was frantic, fueled by the frustration of the last hour and the lingering heat of the previous nights. The taste of her red lipstick was waxy and sweet, a physical mark of her rebellion. Yuta groaned into her mouth, his hands finding her waist and pulling her flush against him. He could feel the hard line of his own desire pressing against her, and the way she arched into him told him she felt it too.

Yumi broke the kiss, breathless and flushed. She turned around, presenting her back to him. "The tail is in the way," she whispered, her voice trembling with excitement.

Yuta didn't waste time. He reached for the thin, red belt that held the accessory in place, unhooking it and tossing it onto the floor. He then gripped the hem of her miniskirt, sliding it up until it was bunched around her waist. She was wearing a tiny red thong that left nothing to the imagination.

"Lean on the table," Yuta commanded, his voice sounding entirely unlike his usual gentle self.

Yumi obeyed instantly. She bent over the wooden table, her forearms resting on the surface, her head hanging low. The position arched her back, thrusting her rear toward him in a silent invitation. In the moonlight, her skin looked like polished marble, the curve of her hips and the cleft of her backside perfectly framed by the bunched-up red fabric.

Yuta stepped behind her, his breath hitching at the sight. He reached out, his large hands spanning the width of her hips, his thumbs pressing into the dimples at the base of her spine. He felt her shudder under his touch, a low whimper escaping her.

He didn't bother with his own clothes beyond what was necessary. He freed himself, the ache in his groin finally finding a focus. He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of her neck.

"You did this on purpose," he murmured, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "You wanted them to look. You wanted me to get like this."

"Maybe," Yumi gasped, her fingers clawing at the edge of the table. "I wanted you to show me... that you’re the only one who matters."

Yuta didn't need any more encouragement. He positioned himself at her entrance, the heat of her radiating against him. He pushed forward, a slow, deliberate slide that filled her completely. Yumi let out a sharp, high-pitched cry, her back arching even further as she took him in.

He didn't stop. He began to move, his thrusts powerful and rhythmic, driving her forward against the table. The wood creaked under the pressure, a steady, staccato beat that echoed the frantic pace of their hearts. Yuta’s hands migrated from her hips to her waist, his fingers digging into her soft skin as he pulled her back against every forward surge.

"Y-Yuta!" she cried out, her voice breaking.

He was relentless. The image of the other boys staring at her was still burned into his mind, fueling a possessive hunger that demanded total submission. He wanted to mark her, to make sure she felt every inch of him, to ensure that the only thing she could think about was the way he was claiming her.

He reached around, his hands finding her small, firm breasts, squeezing them in time with his movements. Yumi was a mess of sensations—the cool wood of the table against her arms, the searing heat of Yuta behind her, and the overwhelming fullness of him moving inside her. She felt herself climbing, the pressure building in her lower belly until it was almost unbearable.

"Look at me," Yuta rasped, his voice thick with the coming release.

Yumi turned her head as much as she could, her eyes glazed and unfocused. Yuta leaned down, capturing her mouth in a searing, messy kiss even as he increased the speed of his thrusts. He was hitting her deep, reaching spots that made her vision swim with sparks.

"You're mine," he growled against her lips. "Only mine."

"Yes," she sobbed, the word lost in the friction of their bodies. "Yours... always yours."

The end came quickly. Yumi’s muscles suddenly clamped around him, a series of intense, rhythmic contractions that sent her spiraling into a jagged climax. She cried out, her forehead hitting the table as her body was racked with waves of pleasure.

Seeing her break was the final straw for Yuta. He let out a low, guttural roar, his body tensing as he delivered several deep, final lunges. He came with a force that left him breathless, his forehead resting against the back of her neck as he filled her, his heart thundering like a war drum.

They stayed like that for a long time, the only sound the ragged rasp of their breathing and the distant, muffled thump of the party music. Yuta slowly withdrew, his legs feeling like lead. He pulled Yumi back against him, his arms wrapping around her waist as they both slid down to sit on the floor, hidden in the shadows beneath the table.

Yumi leaned her head back against his shoulder, her red lipstick smeared across her cheek and his neck, her devil horns slightly askew. She looked exhausted, thoroughly used, and radiantly happy.

"I think..." she panted, her voice a mere whisper, "I think you won, Yuta."

Yuta kissed her temple, his possessive anger having been replaced by a deep, bone-weary affection. "I wasn't competing, Yumi."

"Liars go to hell, you know," she teased, reaching up to adjust one of her horns.

Yuta laughed softly, pulling her closer into the safety of the dark room. "Well, you're already dressed for the occasion. I guess I'll just have to follow you there."

They sat in the silence, the "sexy devil" and her Special Grade protector, while outside, the party continued, oblivious to the fact that the real fireworks had already happened in the dark.